The Tram Ride

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
It has to do with self-pity and depression. But in the end there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Submitted: July 13, 2012

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Submitted: July 13, 2012



It was just an ordinary day but something extraordinary was going to happen. Henry caught a tram somewhere from Footscray to Moonee Ponds. He felt so sorry for himself because he had had a hard life. He knew there were plenty of people who had had hard lives. But it didn't make any difference. He hated being in Footscray as it brought back bad memories. It reminded him of something too depressing to talk about. He had been ignored by the opposite sex for years. He felt ugly and sad. He wanted to commit suicide. But then a Vietnamese woman stared at him. It was a look of concern. She was young and attractive. Slightly younger than him. And miles more mature. He couldn't look away. She was beautiful. She could read his mind. They kept eye contact for five seconds.

Then she looked away. She refused to add to his self-pity. Henry would have to simply stop feeling sorry for himself and he knew it. But how?

What is the formula to cure self-pity? How do we do it? Does money have healing power? Does love have healing power? Can God help? Henry just didn't know. The Vietnamese woman then left the tram and went to Highpoint. She was with friends. She had a life. Henry didn't.

And so, it was a sad story. But there was light at the end of the tunnel. Someone cared. Someone noticed that he was devastated. He hated being in the area. It was a tram ride he would never forget. He was thirty-one. Half his life or almost half was gone. Did he want to waste the rest of it with self-pity? Or use some practical steps to overcome it? There was no such thing as a book called How To Overcome Self-Pity Within Twenty-Four Hours. And even if there was, Henry didn't know where to find this book. He knew that we were all creatures of time. If it took someone ten years to build up their self-pity levels, it would take the same amount of time to snap out of it. Maybe when he was forty-one, he would feel better.

It was an ironic story. He wanted to be happy but also didn't want to be happy. That is the strange thing about self-pity. It makes no sense. It is an insignificant emotion. It is like a cancer.

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